The Anamnesis of The Forgotten
by ozsia
Summary: Robin wakes up with nothing but the impressions of a nightmare and the foreboding cackles of a madman into reality, and the arms of a man whose achingly familiar. Robin wakes up with nothing and a whole lot to relearn.


**Code** : FEA-TAOTF-MC

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the featured media, rights go to their respected owners.

 **Media** : Fire Emblem Awakening

 **Title** : The Anamnesis of The Forgotten

 **Notable Sub-Genres** : **[** Chrom **/** My Unit/ (M) Robin **]** A-Z type shit, a character study.

 **Rating** : **"** **T** **"** for Crude Language and Mature Themes such as: Racism

* * *

 **Chapter 1: A is for "Ancestry"**

Robin wakes up with nothing but the impressions of a nightmare and the foreboding cackles of a madman into reality, and the arms of a man whose achingly familiar. He wakes up with nothing, alone and lost on the outskirts of a town he doesn't know the name of, in an area he doesn't recognise.

His body is heavy as he allows himself to be heaved back onto his feet and he can't help it when he stumbles, have difficulty finding his feet as his head swims. He's dizzy and his confusion only makes him dizzier as his questions are met with suspicion.

( _'Amnesia!'_ Lissa declared with an element of fascination that perhaps this situation deserves, but isn't what Robin wants directed towards him.)

'Careful, Milord,' Frederick warns, eyes cold and glaring, 'he's Plegian, this could be a trap.'

Robin doesn't know what that means. 'A Plegian?' he asks quietly.

'You cannot possibly expect us to believe you do not know that either,' Frederick demands with no small amount of disbelief.

'I…' he looks between them all, not sure what to say. No words come to him and he's left struggling until Chrom reaches out after removing a glove, grasping hold of his hand. Robin jolts at the contract, and blinks in bewilderment for a moment before glancing down and properly focusing on what he hadn't when Chrom pulled him back onto his feet.

Chrom's skin is pale, like clay, pink around his knuckles while Robin at his lightest is wheatish, bronzed at his darkest. Robin startles and glances down at himself on instinct. He's wearing purples and blacks and greys and golds while Chrom and Frederick are in blues and silvers and Lissa in yellows and browns. They are not the same.

Robin finds himself biting his lip, gnawing at it as looks back up to Chrom's eyes. 'Plegian?' he says again, weakly as the weight of the word leaves him unsettled.

'From Plegia,' Chrom informs him, as he releases Robin, 'our sister country. You're a long way from home.'

'Then...how would I have gotten here?' Robin is so confused. He looks down at himself again, and glances over were he was laid out on the grass. His clothing isn't particularly heavy, though his cloak seems to be weighed down, but not enough to compensate his lack of luggage. Nothing that says he's been travelling.

'Quite.' Frederick's voice is sharp, unfriendly. 'To get past the border from the West, you'd have papers if you entered legally. The likelihood of you travelling through Regna Ferox.'

'...why is that?' Robin almost doesn't question it. Every time he opens his mouth, he seems to annoy Frederick more. Lissa's been quiet but watchful and even while she's smiling at him, Robin doesn't think that's all there is to it. Chrom seems the most open to his circumstance, but Robin doesn't want to push the man's sincerity.

'Ferox has been in isolation for over ten years. They'll trade but the borders are relatively closed to outsiders.' Everything Frederick says is pointed and declaring viciously " _you shouldn't be here"._

'We'll work this out,' Chrom states kindly when Robin finds he has nothing he can say.

'Un! We'll take you back to Ylisstol with us; see if you have your papers,' Lissa offers though Robin knows he won't be able to deny them. 'I'm still training but there's plenty of healers back home that might be able to help you.'

'Yes, with his "amnesia",' Frederick scoffs with clear disapproval.

Robin understands that his story is farfetched, though he can't quite grasp _why_. His intuition tells him that the distance Frederick wants to create is fair and without the knowledge to refute the knight's distrust, he can only go off the feelings his gut is trying to tell him.

Still, he allows them to guide him onto the dirt road with the intentions to lead him to Ylisstol. His nervousness grows with every step, no matter how Chrom and Lissa try to put him at ease. Frederick continues to treat him with distrust, and every hint that the knight makes that Robin is somehow a trap, collects in his mind.

A trap for _what_ , Robin only began to understand when he runs after the self-proclaimed Shepherds as they leave him to give aid, towards the fire and the screams and the chaos. The battle he steps into has clear lines drawn and his heartbeat raises a new tempo, when he sees that the offenders share the dark colour of their skin with him.

('They keep crossing the border.' Chrom huffs as he cuts down a dark mage which was aiming at Lissa. Cowardly as it is, it makes sense to take out your opponents healer first.

'Damn Plegians,' Frederick swears and Robin feels his breath coming out just a little faster, having nothing to do with how much he's just run, or how he's decided to put himself in the firing line.

 _Plegians_. Robin swallows and begins to understand the accusing way Frederick branded him with a race he couldn't identify as. It isn't enough to turn him away and he isn't sure why it isn't. Intellectually, Robin can think of half a dozen reasons not to get involved.)

His arrival is unexpected and Frederick nearly takes off his head when he intercepts an attack meant for Chrom, with movements too sudden and violent. It's easily misinterpreted as something they aren't. It isn't until the throwing axe imbeds itself where Chrom was standing that Frederick redirects, and Chrom relaxes under Robin's hands. 'How -?' Chrom attempts to say but Robin has already refocused.

'Good knight, to your left!' Robin warns, having kept an ear on the barbarians' frantic yelling. It's obvious that they aren't expecting to be interrupted in this destruction and are quite unorganised. That they aren't more colluding is a mystery, though the Shepherds don't seem to respond to their words.

Frederick moves and narrowly misses the sword aimed at his back as he fends off the the axe wielder. Robin pulls out his tome; the book that fell out of the binding attached to his belt when he ran after Chrom. He palms it almost clumsily. He doesn't remember, but as he feels static charge in his fingertips, he thinks he might not have to.

'Magic?' Chrom gasps, expression startled, 'do you remember how to use that?'

Robin's stomach does a complicated summersault. 'We're about to find out.'

He aims at the axe wielder, and shoots a bolt of blazing lightning he grew in his palm. He can taste the ozone on his tongue, feel his hair stand on end and while he hits his target, Robin can tell immediately he hasn't properly compensated for the seizing of his muscles, and with any other element, it wouldn't have been enough to still meet his mark. (But then, with any other element, you didn't have to worry about that particular concern). It's a risk, he knew that distantly; a warning echo in the back of his mind, but with Frederick engaging the swordsman, he needed the support and quickly.

Slicing through his combatant, Frederick turns with a startled expression, to see the dead fighter behind him and wisps of lightning bolts dissipating. Robin lowers his outstretched trembling hand, tries to ignore how his fingers twitch. 'You're a mage?' the knight demands as he swerves to Robin, now that the field was seemingly clear.

Robin frowns, glances down to the golden tome in his hold. It's old, he can tell that by the spine and how battered the covers are; well loved and well used and on its way out. '…yes?' he says with uncertainty, looks up to meet Frederick's unimpressed face. He sweeps back one side of his cloak, where a sword is pressing against his leg from where it is sheathed to his belt. He doesn't want to draw further consideration from them, but he'd prefer to be upfront. 'Then again…'

Frederick's eyes narrow. '….Plegians aren't known for mixing disciplines,' he says but Robin doesn't know what to tell him. He has no real idea what a "Plegian" is outside of tan skin and invading foreign countries. He doesn't have an excuse, he doesn't have _answers_. He wants them, desperately, but he can't give what he doesn't have.

'Perhaps,' Chrom interrupts calmly as Robin flounders, 'we can hold off on this, for later.'

'Yes, milord,' Frederick allows because there's a time and a place and even with the dread hanging over Robin's head, there's a village on fire around them and barbarians running amok.

'Robin.' He startles at the address, the sound of his name from another's mouth. Deep blue eyes assess him. 'You could understand the Plegians, couldn't you?'

Robin hesitates. '…could you not?'

Chrom's face, pale with urgently, pauses with sympathy. 'No, we couldn't. They weren't speaking Ylissean, like we are now.'

'Ylissean?' Robin mouths and suddenly hears the accent he hadn't before in his repetition, 'this is…'

'You do not realise you're speaking a foreign language?' Frederick asks skeptically.

Robin fumbles for some sort of explanation. 'You….you were all speaking Ylissean when I woke up?' Which may be the most probable reason, whether it's was true or not… Robin doesn't know.

Frederick with his perfectly raised eyebrow, the scornful set of his lips, is almost too much. 'Later,' Chrom says again, intercepting whatever Frederick is about to throw Robin's way. He's grateful for it. 'Are there more of them?' he asks pointedly instead.

Robin takes a breath. _Right_ , of course. He feels himself sinking but there just isn't time for his anxiety. This creeping fear as he realises the more he's lost. He attempts to recentre himself. He's not what's important here. Later, when the fires are out, he can slink off on break down about this. 'Right. Yes. There are more of them, near the fountain. They were talking about getting reinforcements.'

'…I shouldn't ask this of you,' Chrom says with some contrition but it's dwarfed by his determination and given the situation, Robin can't blame him, 'but will you offer us your aid?'

'I fear I already have,' Robin swallows but his feet are already pointing towards the danger, knees bent and prepared to take off. 'I - I don't know what it means.'

Chrom's face holds his sadly and they stare at each other until Lissa grabs his arm. 'Don't worry, Robin!' she exclaims with wide eyes and her face has so much compassion it makes Robin feel uncomfortable. 'We'll take care of you!'

Robin inhales slowly. 'The fountain,' he reminds them because these people are strangers and they really don't owe him anything. 'I don't know where that is.'

'Follow me,' Chrom mutters with some distraction now.

And he does.

It's the right thing to do.

* * *

His body attempts to energise itself as they reach their destination. He wonders briefly if he's used to combat. Having both a melee and a projectile weapon, says as much. Maybe it'll be clearer a second time. When they get to the fountain, they can see the barbarians looting and wrecking mindless destruction. Robin knows not to re-engage. From where they're crouched, behind the tavern, Robin stops Chrom from sprinting out when the fighter with a flying axe knocks over a plant box.

'Robin?' Chrom hisses and it's the most antagonistic this man has sounded towards Robin since they met. But Chrom gives him the benefit of the doubt and again, here, where Robin could be sabotaging them...Chrom gives _him the benefit of the doubt_. This nobility serves good men. Foolish, but good.

'There's more of them than there are of us,' Robin tells him succinctly because Chrom seems good but also _impatient_. 'And a majority of them are stronger. We have to pick them off.'

Chrom's face pinches. 'That's...sly.'

Robin frowns. That's deliberate wording but he can taste Chrom's disapproval. 'That's… strategy.' He doesn't want an argument, it doesn't feel like his place. It's not just that - this is how this should work, isn't it? His gut is _telling_ him it is. For everything he doesn't know, this feels right. 'It's a matter of consideration. Weigh whose lives means more to you. You, your companions and what you're standing for, or those you're standing against.'

'...you have a point,' Chrom admits with some reluctance. 'What would you have us do?'

'...me?'

'You seem to know what you're doing.' Then, Chrom smiles and it really makes Robin want to hit him. _Are you out of your mind?_ he wants to exclaim in utter bafflement. Who - who _says_ that to a man you hardly know, who's obviously not all together with it. 'Besides, you're right, they have more numbers and you're our advantage.'

'Milord, are you sure this is wise?' Frederick asks lowly.

'Robin?' Chrom insists as he ignores Frederick's very sound caution.

Robin licks his lips, glances back over to every opponent he can see and thinks. Four in front of the fountain (three barbarians, one fighter), making a nuance of themselves, two at the back (one barbarian and one thief). And a further three behind the bridge, of which he can barely see. He understands their threat level like he's come to know the Shepherds. It's instinct; his brain mapping out strengths and weaknesses for him, but right now it isn't when he should be questioning it.

'We'll draw them out,' Robin announces. Frederick is their strongest, however he's also the largest and most intimidating member of their group. He's not going to lore anyone from their positions. Chrom is more likely to get a few bites but his defence seems weak and if he gets surrounded in the process than he'll be at risk. Lissa would be great, she's quick on her feet but she has even less protection than her brother.

And Robin? Robin doesn't trust himself. He doesn't know his abilities or what he's capable of. He doesn't _know,_ but maybe that's why he needs to be the lamb in this situation. He's certainly the only one who should.

'Here,' Robin murmurs, 'here's what we can do.'

'Are you sure?' is all Chrom asks, afterwards, with a degree of trust Robin in no way deserves. They're all staring at him and even Frederick is silent when Robin laid out a plan.

'Yes,' Robin replies and means it as much as he can.

Chrom inclines his head and with that, it's confirmed: Robin will be the decoy.

* * *

Robin collapses as soon as the leader is felled. He's sweating and his muscles are tight. He can't remember if this type of exertion is normal for him, but there was certainly a number of close calls. Robin has a number of cuts and scrapes and they sting but what has him feeling off balance, was the sword that was a hair from slicing through his face entirely.

He doesn't think the shadow of his hood quite hides the thin slash carved into the bridge of his nose and onto his cheeks. It hurts enough to make him feel sick but it's mostly dried up now, so it doesn't feel important.

'Are you alright?' Chrom asks in concern as he finds Robin leant up against an abandoned cart. There's a tired slump to his back and he can't straighten himself. Chrom's some kind of noble, that much is obvious but Robin can't bring himself to care in this moment. Chrom squats next to him, places a hand on his shoulder like Chrom doesn't either and Robin isn't sure if that makes this easier. 'You used a lot of mana.'

Robin hums in agreement; he did. He tried switching out to his sword when he'd become too faint, but with only melee fighters in their group, it was reliant on him to even the group out. He feels wrung out for it too, but he can't bring himself to regret it. 'Yes.'

'…once we get back to Ylisstol, a healer will attend to you,' Chrom asserts, looking directly to Robin's eyes with a strength that's unfair. 'You - you'll forgive me for saying, but you seemed unsteady when we found you and this battle hasn't helped.'

Robin blinks. 'I'm…still coming back with you?'

Chrom pauses. 'Well, yes. We can't exactly leave you here.'

His stomach twists but Robin feels very resigned to this, and is overall too tired to fight wherever this Shepherd is trying to guide him. If that means Ylisstol, then that means Ylisstol. 'A prisoner again, huh?'

Chrom cringes. 'It's not my intention to…limit you, I trust what you say when you tell me you are without your memory,' he says and squeezes Robin's shoulder. 'And because I trust what you say, you can't expect me to abandon you back to the road, especially after all the help you've given us.'

Robin swallows and wonders idly when it was that he last had something to drink. 'It was nothing.'

'It was _not_ ,' Chrom retorts in disbelief.

'It was definitely something,' Lissa agrees as she approaches with her healer's staff held behind her, between her two good hands as she skips forward. She's smiling still, though her brows are furrowed. 'How're ya doing, Robin?'

'I'm fine,' Robin says.

Lissa's eyebrow furrow. The response is obviously not one she expected. '...you're covered in blood.'

Robin glances down to find his beige shirt _is,_ in fact _,_ covered in blood. Must've been from his face. It'd been pretty heavy for a while before it stemmed itself. 'Oh, that's stopped now,' he reassures.

 _'Stopped!_ That doesn't make it _better!'_ Lissa shouts as she stomps forward. Not delicate indeed. She reaches out and rips his hood back, leaning down in his space and is completely unapologetic about it. Robin's face is tilted up towards her and not a second passes before he's staring into large, assessing eyes.

'What's the verdict?' Chrom enquires.

'Hmm...so, yeah, it's not that deep but it's still not good, Robin!'

'...sorry?' Robin offers tentatively.

Lissa scoffs and releases him, readying her Heal Staff in front of his nose. Robin's vision explodes into green light when he doesn't respond fast enough. By the time he can see again, Lissa's stepping back with a stern expression. 'You need to learn to take better care of yourself!' she declares.

Robin hesitates. The freshness of his wound has hardened into something crusty, fragile. The pain has soothed though, softened into something bearable. The smaller injuries disappear almost entirely. 'Thank you.'

'Thank me by not scratching at it!' Robin concedes this with a nod, though the small movement makes him feel nauseous. Heal Staffs aren't miracles after all. 'That face of yours also needs a cream to stop it from scarring.''

Robin huffs in laughter. 'Okay.'

* * *

'Oh, Milord,' Frederick says as they join him and the man he's been quietly conversing with. Robin is walking slow, feeling weak kneed and annoyingly - "floaty". He doesn't feel grounded and he's not sure how much of that is waking up without a memory to his name, or the mana deprivation. 'This gentlemen was just offering us the use of his Inn -'

'I thought ya said ya got 'em all!' the man exclaims, cutting through the calmness of Frederick's voice with something fearful. The townsman takes a step back, hands curling into fists at his sides and Robin tenses as he notices who the man's glare is directed towards. As wary as Robin feels, he isn't able to react before Chrom is edging in front of him.

He doesn't feel much safer. Confusion numbs him as the man starts yelling, face snarled and eyes glinting. Frederick steps in to try and pacify the situation, but despite that, and Lissa suddenly pressing into his side, trepidation builds.

'Sir, please, calm yourself,' Frederick attempts to soothe as he raises his hands. 'Our - hooded companion means you no harm.'

'What?' The townsman says weakly as he glances between the knight and Robin. 'Yer - yer Shepherds. Yer ain't meant to be consorting wit the likes of 'im.'

Robin can taste ashes and the faintest spark of magic on his tongue as he struggles to breath in. He's missing something ( _everything),_ and that just makes him feel more vulnerable as he attempts to stand his ground against such hatred. Should he be? The whispers of doubt are like the faintest trickles of poison in his blood.

'He just helped save you all!' Lissa states with outrage on Robin's behalf but her own stance is unsteady. He can't tell what's destabilised her. He suspects it's what's stolen all the words from his lips.

The townsman sneers. 'Ee's a filthy _heathen_! Worshipin' that Fell Dragon like their Mad King!' Every word is a condemnation Robin barely comprehends but each one is still like an arrow to the back. He wonders if his skin is meant to be so thin. 'Brings nothin' but death and misfortune! The lot of em!'

'Sir,' Chrom says but Robin feels like he hears a line being drawn. Chrom's hand returns to Robin's shoulder. The weight almost makes Robin feel off kilter. 'Peace, please. We were just leaving, besides.'

 _'Good_ ,' the townsman snarls, 'ee don't belong 'ere! Him and 'is kind shoulda been wiped out in the Holy Crusade.' The words were spat with nothing but venom and although they meant nothing to Robin, they _do_ mean something. Lissa gasps, horrified, and Frederick's expression slips from the cordial thing he had masked himself with, and into something dangerous. Chrom's grip becomes bruising as Robin allows himself to be led away.

'You can't just _say -'_ Lissa begins to reprimand behind them before Frederick hushes her somewhat apologetically, with something Robin's can't quite make out. 'But Freddy!' she protests with a cat like hiss.

 _'Lissa.'_

More townsfolk are leaving the safety they had hidden themselves in and they are not anymore welcoming. Robin's entourage grow tenser with every person who notices them - notices _Robin,_ and stops and stares. Their whispers are accusing and their fingers inculpate him. Lissa stops objecting.

Robin pulls his hood back up, tries to make himself smaller. He _feels_ smaller. They leave the damaged town quickly but the townsfolk and their glares follow his back far into the distance. It burns. When Robin finds himself back on the dirt road, he wonders where it will lead.

* * *

 **Con/Textual Vomit:** I am so tired. I don't even know why I wrote this. I'm in two minds whether I like it or not. Leaning towards the former to a degree where I may just delete this. I think I just wanted a place for all my headcanons. I don't know. Please be kind and ignore all the mistakes I've no doubt missed in my proofreading. My eyes are burning and time is not my friend. My friend gave me the Awakening art book and this is probably all his fault. Shit I have so much to do. It's 1100PM and I feel like it's four in the morning. I hate myself a lot. I hope you enjoyed this mess.

 **Originally Uploaded:** 12/01/2019


End file.
